


one day i'll sing you a love song

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Canonical Character Death, History & Mythology, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sleeping Together, Traditions, slight mention of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: Post-Gronder, Dimitri and Dedue remember what it was like to sing.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	one day i'll sing you a love song

You are not truly sure how to sing. 

There had been lessons, many lessons, all throughout your childhood. You were taught how to vocalize, how to sing from certain parts of your body and not others, an intricate anatomy of rightness you never quite knew how to process. But through each note that died as it left your tongue, each hymnal that cracked with your voice as you aged, it became quite evident that you held no potential for the act. But it was an enjoyable part of your daily teachings, a respite from the endless lectures on sword-fighting and lance maintenance. Part of the refinement of a king, you were told. For one day, you would helm the services which rung in the new year at Fhirdiad, and the people would want to see you. They would want to see their king. 

When everything happened, such things were forgotten about. There was nothing worth singing for, and there was nothing good left in this world for you. 

Except Dedue. 

You never sang for Dedue. You’re beginning to regret that now, beside him at the respite camp you’ve set up after the campaign in Gronder. Because he’s humming, even if only underneath his breath, so intricate and shaky and alive. 

Rodrigue died. Dedue could die, too, though after something like that you’re not entirely sure how you’d go on. And just as you remember Rodrigue from the times he shadowed your father in the chapel hall, singing along to your wincing adolescent keens, you’d remember Dedue by his humming. By the sweet reverberations of his voice. But if you died- Dedue might not remember you like that at all. 

A painful part of you thinks that’s for the best. After everything you put him through, regardless of the things he’s said to you, it’s hard to believe remembering you after you were gone could do Dedue any good. He deserves to live in a world without violence, and you seem to drag it around with you like it’s metal chained to your feet, and you’re wading into the ocean as he holds onto your wrist. But maybe, if you were to hum along, then he would have something worthwhile. 

So you do. The tune is unfamiliar, but not unwelcoming, presumably Duscurian in origin. It’s hard to imagine words fitting anywhere in it, not with the way it emphasizes the deep sounds that the throat can produce. Lying next to Dedue, stripped of your armour, you can see that his mouth makes the same movements as you can feel yours making. Not perfectly in tune, but close enough. 

Then, it stops.

“You do not have to join me.” 

You stop too. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine I’m doing a good job at it.”

“I do not wish to criticize your performance.” Dedue’s eyes are open now. He’s looking at you, an unfathomable deep resonant within his ocean-green eyes. “You are doing well for a beginner.” 

“In that case, do not let me intrude. Please continue.”

“...Do not think I am excluding you.” He takes pause, but continues to speak. “It is that the meaning of the song may be inappropriate.”

For the first time in a long time, the edge of a smile inches onto your face. You follow it where it leads you. “Oh? Is it some sort of love song?” Dedue’s face flushes, barely visible in the afternoon shadows, and you feel the urge to reach your hand out for his. 

You do not follow that instinct, regardless of how much you want to. 

“N-not necessarily. It is not a romantic love song, I suppose.”

“That reminds me of the songs I used to sing. Many of them were about love for the Goddess.” You take a second to feel the first few notes of a hymn on your tongue, just to jog your memory. “Is it like that?”

Dedue nods, just slightly. “Akin to that. It is a song about… loyalty, for a lack of better phrasing.”

Oh, how you might wish it was a love song. But not now. Perhaps not ever, and that was okay.

“It is an old legend. Of a man who ruled a great swathe of forest in the north of Duscur, beyond where the people of the villages and the towns resided. Under his control was a great pack of wolves, all branded with coats that shone a shimmering blue in the moonlight.” He stops to consider the rest of the story, closes his eyes again, and you miss the sight of them profoundly. But you close your eyes too, to better imagine this world he is shaping. “But though the wolves were companions, they were not friends. There seemed to be nobody in the world who understood the man of the forest, nobody who was not scared away by the wolves who ran freely and howled deep into the night.”

In your mind, in whatever approximation you can conjure of the story, the earth is bathed in snow. It glitters, lies in smooth piles on the ground, and the man of the wolves walks alone. 

Dedue continues. “One night, he is approached by a sole human figure. A man from the nearby village, whose prize sheep had vanished into the forest. He looked upon the wolf-pack man with anger, and betrayal, because he believed that the wolves had certainly eaten the sheep by now. And he expected fully to be set upon by the same wolves, because someone who controlled such cruel animals must be cruel themselves; cruel beyond any redemption.”

You’ve seen Duscur sheep before. Having fled with the fleeing people years ago, they have now spread, their flocks full and strong again. Grey-wooled, long-horned, resilient. But you’ve also seen a wolf. 

“But the wolf-pack man called for his four-legged underlings. He lined them up, and he checked their mouths for any signs of blood, for any half-chewed flesh. And when he found the culprit, he took the jaw of that wolf in his hands, and stuck his hand down his throat.” Dedue coughs. “I apologize for this next portion.”

You think these legends are certainly more impressive than anything to do with the saints.

“No, go on.”

“Very well. As the man pulls at the insides of the wolf, he grabs ahold of something, and begins to remove it. The man from the village stands in awe as the body of his sheep, fully formed and whole, is removed from the stomach. He is presented with it, and prepares to depart without another word. But then he realizes that the wolf is now itself dead, marking the white snow red with its blood. And he asks the man- 

Why did you do that for me? If all that you have is the wolves.” 

“Why did he do it?” You feel youthful again, somehow. Hearing a new story, asking questions, waiting for the conclusion. Dedue must have felt the same way, once upon a time. You tell yourself you’ll tell him a story, sing him a song, as soon as you have one that’s right for him. 

“The man from the village is the only other person to have stepped into the forest for moons. So the wolf-pack man turns to him, and he says: you may have the sheep, and I may have the wolves, but now we only have each other. Astonished by his generosity, the man from the village vows to bring good word back with him. And the man with the wolves promises to corral them.”

“And?”

“And then that happens. Or it doesn’t. The song ends there.” You open your eyes again, and find that Dedue has done the same. You want to close them almost immediately after, knowing you’re safe here. Hearing all that has made you quite sleepy. That, or your body is reacting to years of self-inflicted abuse and rest starvation. It could be either, or both. 

“That’s a remarkable legend. Is it all expressed in that song?”

“Indeed.”

You let out a breathy chuckle. “It must have some rather complicated lyrics, then.” 

“There are no lyrics. Only vocalizations.”

“That is perhaps for the best.” You yawn. “I was always terrible with words and music together. But I would be happy to sing this with you, you know.”

“Perhaps. But you should know that it expresses loyalty. A specific commitment to an individual. Back in Duscur, people would use it to swear loyalty to their lord.”

Another yawn escapes your throat, warm and comfortable. “Then I express my fealty to you, Dedue. For as long as I live.”

A shocked expression blooms on Dedue’s face. It is almost endearing. 

“-Do not say anything impulsive. Dimitri-.”

“It is what I have always wished. So long as you find it agreeable.” 

Shakily, he nods. You smile, and shuffle closer to him. 

“Now please, continue with your song. And I shall do my best to follow your lead.”

It takes a second, but the thrumming of Dedue’s throat picks up again. It resonates through the tent, even in its smallness, a growing sapling which cracks a rock with its roots. You close your eyes, and surrender to the sound, the tender intimacies. And you think to yourself what song you’ll sing for him, when the time is right. 

Just maybe, it’ll be a love song.

**Author's Note:**

> hello all and thank you for reading :) 
> 
> if you enjoyed please leave a comment or a kudos- you can find the rest of my writing at @meowcosm on twitter or @scribemallow on tumblr
> 
> have a wonderful day!


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